


An Addams Family Christmas Carol

by Not_A_Cousin



Category: The Addams Family (Movies - Sonnenfeld)
Genre: AddamsFamilyXChange2020, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Cousin/pseuds/Not_A_Cousin
Summary: Wednesday Addams despises Christmas, and she is making life miserable for her family as a result. What will happen when she is visited by four different ghosts each night?
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: Addams Family Holiday Exchange





	1. Stave 1

**Author's Note:**

> 8\. Second prompt is basically A Christmas Carol but make it Addams Family. Wednesday is Scrooge. Rating can be anything. Preferably Movie verse. 
> 
> This is my first fanfiction I have completed and published. It is as appropriate as the normal Christmas Carol.

Stave 1

Wednesday woke up to the sound of Uncle Fester’s morning bombs exploding. She was immediately put into a foul mood. Her room had been covered in Christmas decorations. There were garlands covered with real cobwebs, wreaths made of many leaves of hemlock, black tinsel, nutcrackers with the heads removed, and on her nightstand a mini tree decorated with teeth, rusty nails, and barbed wire. Lights of red and green lined the window and the headboard and footboard of her bed. Even the octopus on her footboard had a sticker Santa hat on its head. Wednesday rolled her eyes.

The culprits, as always, were her parents. Every 21st of December, Wednesday would wake up to her room suddenly decorated for Christmas. When Wednesday was a little girl, her parents used to say it was elves. Wednesday looked bitterly at the decorations in her room. They were in her way, and they were overly cheery in their purpose. Christmas was a foolish holiday for dimwitted people, and she did not understand why her family got so sentimental about it.

Wednesday marched out of her room, slamming the door behind her. To her disgust, the front of the door was also decorated, her name spelled out diagonally, each letter made individually out of wood and painted with black, green, and red. Her parents must have tried to carve the letters themselves, though maybe they had the help from Uncle Fester and Grandmama, as the letters were all incredibly uneven and the “n” was almost unrecognizably as such and looked more like a square. Holly peaked out from behind a few of the letters. Wednesday grumbled at the waste of time it had been. She turned and headed downstairs to breakfast, glowering at the Christmas decorations around her. Pugsley past her on her way down, so she tripped him, causing him to fall on his face. Lurch had already had his breakfast and was going about his chores with a Santa hat on his head.

When they reached the dining table, the rest of their family was already there. Grandmama was finishing up cooking breakfast while Uncle Fester, Mother, and Father were sitting at the table grinning like idiots. Pubert was between Mother and Father in a highchair, dressed in the elf serial killer outfit Mother and Father had put Pugsley in when he was an infant.

“Well, children,” Father said. “Did you like what the ‘elves’ did to your rooms?”

“It was so cool!” Pugsley exclaimed, sitting down next to Father excitedly. Wednesday made sure her exasperation was clear as she sat down at the table next to Mother. “My room is so messy, but you managed to decorate every inch of it! I thought the lights were great on the road signs, but then I realized they were different colors as well which just made it better. How did you get the tub to be both red and green? Oh, and the garlands –”

“Can you talk any longer?” Wednesday sneered. Pugsley stopped talking and crossed his arms, clearly upset.

“Wednesday,” Mother scolded. “Pugsley was just excited about his room; you shouldn’t dampen his spirits.”

“Is that possible?” Wednesday replied. “Those rooms are asinine anyway.”

Mother and Father both looked wounded, but the table was distracted by Grandmama’s declaration, “Breakfast is served.”

The breakfast consisted delightfully of horse blood and dried crocodile skin. Until Wednesday realized.

“It’s green and red,” Wednesday observed with vitriol.

“It’s Christmas, Wednesday,” Mother said softly. Father was uncharacteristically quiet, playing with his food.

“There was a time I didn’t like Christmas either,” Grandmama stated. “Though in my day Christmas consisted of fighting the neighbors’ children to the death with tinsel. I never could get Jerry.” Grandmama made a fist and had a wild look in her eyes.

“Christmas is a waste of time, and I don’t know why we celebrate it,” Wednesday explained.

“Christmas is awesome!” Pugsley protested with his usual lack of wit.

“Christmas is when we celebrate each other,” Mother added.

“And I’ve got some good presents for you kids,” Uncle Fester teased.

Wednesday continued to sulk. She already had things, and she could always acquire more on her own. The conversation moved on to general excitement over Christmas, and Wednesday got so irritated that she stood up from the table.

“Wait, Wednesday, there’s something your mother and I want to talk to you about,” Father said.

Wednesday sighed. “Where?”

“In the drawing room, but –”

Wednesday stomped off to the drawing room, ignoring her father’s call, “Wednesday!”

She passed Lurch playing “The Christmas Song” in a minor key. Wednesday whipped around toward Lurch.

“Your playing isn’t that good, and no one wants to listen to it anyway,” Wednesday complained.

Lurch’s playing stopped, and he looked at Wednesday like Joel had when she told him she did not want to spend time with him anymore. Wednesday started walking up the stairs when she heard the organ begin playing again. Only this time it was playing “I Want It Now” from Willy Wonka. Wednesday looked over to see that Thing and Lurch were playing together. Thing was wearing five different finger Christmas socks on each of his digits. Wednesday continued up the stairs even more violently, swinging open the door to the drawing room quickly and slamming it hard behind her. She sat on a chair and waited.

Ten minutes later, Father opened the door gently to the drawing room and allowed Mother to enter in front of him. They sat together at the couch across from Wednesday; their hands intwined unconsciously.

Father began, “Wednesday, even if you hate Christmas as much as you say –”

“I do.”

“– you must try to be kind to Pugsley and Lurch, who do care about this holiday.”

“Why?”

“Because you love them, don’t you?”

Father’s expression seemed particularly pained saying this.

“I do not see why I need to prove my love. If people weren’t so sensitive, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

Mother and Father seemed to take a big inhale together.

Mother cut to the chase, “We want you to give Christmas presents to your siblings this year.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course!” Father exclaimed. “You’re getting older now, and Pugsley has been making presents for you for years. And he gave one to Pubert last year.”

“So?”

“We want you to give your siblings presents for Christmas,” Mother repeated. “They don’t have to be physical. It could be a list of compliments, or you could let Pubert play with one of your dolls.”

“They’re _my_ dolls,” Wednesday emphasized, her bitterness giving way to anger. “I’m not going to reward him for touching Madame Élisabeth.”

“He has a shared interest with you,” Mother stated.

“He’s a thief and an unwanted nuisance.”

There was a brief silence as Mother silently decided to give up on the old argument.

“Nevertheless,” Father interjected. “You must give him a gift.”

“I am not giving any gifts. I refuse.”

Father straightened up at this, his face more serious than usual. “Then we’re not asking you. We’re telling you.”

“I will not give anyone Christmas gifts. I am not going to participate in this sentimental slog of a holiday.”

Father was shocked and appalled, but Mother did not react, perhaps expecting this reply.

“Then,” Mother stated, “you will feel very lonely on Christmas.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wednesday replied. “I’d rather be lonely than spend time with those bothersome people.”

“The Harris family has nothing. We thought it would be nice for them to have a place to celebrate Christmas at,” Father protested.

“But they’re average people,” Wednesday complained.

“What does it matter?” Father replied. “They celebrate Christmas. We celebrate Christmas. It should be a jolly old time!”

“They have five children,” Wednesday pointed out.

“And the oldest is just one year younger than you,” Father said. “Just try to have fun. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

“I’m sure I’ll claw my own eyes out.”

“Surely there is something you are looking forward to this Christmas?” Mother asked.

“Death,” Wednesday answered.

At that, Mother and Father had apparently worn themselves out trying to reason with Wednesday. They left the drawing room, and Wednesday soon followed suit. She walked back to her room, pulling at the “W” on her door. It was stuck on by a nail. Wednesday opened her door, planning to head straight for the drawer she knew had Uncle Fester’s crowbar in it. Then, she saw him.

“Enemy of the republic!” Wednesday cried. She ran to her bed, grabbing Pubert and tearing Madame Élisabeth from his mouth. She threw him at the floor, where he barrel-rolled safely into a sitting position. However, her forceful removal of a headless doll from his mouth did hurt him, and he began to cry.

Father bounded into the room, picking Pubert up and cradling him. He looked at Wednesday with fear and concern.

“He shouldn’t play with my dolls,” Wednesday explained confidently.

“You have to be more careful, Wednesday,” Father said. Pubert stopped crying.

“It’s Pubert’s fault. He’s always making my life miserable,” Wednesday complained.

“That’s what siblings do,” Father commented. “But he is still small, so you must be careful you don’t maim or kill him.”

“I’ve tried. He always gets away.”

Father carried Pubert out of her room, and she could hear Mother meet them in the hallway. Wednesday found Uncle Fester’s crowbar and walked back outside to her door. Mother and Father broke off from a kiss to see what she was doing. Wednesday closed her door and pried off the first letter. She looked back at her parents, posturing herself as if to say, ‘what are you going to do about it’. Mother and Father looked at each other mournfully and then walked away into Pubert’s room.

Wednesday continued the removal of the letters until they were all piled on the ground, the holly lying separately as it had detached itself in the removal process. Wednesday gathered the letters and holly and took them to the stairs. Wednesday took out a match from her hair, lit the “W”, and dropped it off the side of the bannister. She did this with each letter and holly, ending up with only one loose match left in her hair. Wednesday returned to her room. She destroyed and removed every Christmas decoration, throwing them out her window. Satisfied with her work, she sat down on her bed, holding Madame Élisabeth in her arms.

“Woe is me to have two useless brothers,” Wednesday proclaimed, touching to light bite marks on her doll. Suddenly, Wednesday stood up. She had an idea.

Wednesday grabbed wrapping paper, a small cardboard box, a spring, super glue, tape, and a knife sharpener. Wednesday found a knife from her closet collection that fit in the box, and she sharpened the knife until it could cut through her mini coffin like butter. Wednesday super glued a thick piece of metal to the bottom of the box and superglued the spring to the box and the knife to the spring. She put a thick piece of metal inside the opening of the box so that the knife would not cut through the box. Wednesday taped the box lightly enough that she knew Pubert could open it on his own. She wrapped the present in wrapping paper and wrote ‘For Pubert From Wednesday’ at the top. Wednesday quickly disposed of the evidence of what she had done.

When she placed her present underneath the fifteen-foot Christmas tree in the living room, Uncle Fester was there, reading a book on pick-up lines.

“Wednesday! So, you’ve decided to give your brothers gifts after all. Good girl! Your parents will be very happy.”

“Maybe,” Wednesday replied ominously.

That night, Wednesday lay in bed, her arms crossed in an X over her chest. She had trouble going to sleep as she could here in the distance her father singing a very slow version of “All I Want for Christmas is You”, probably to her mother in the graveyard. The Christmas tune negated whatever affection Wednesday had toward her parents love for each other, and irritation flooded her senses. Wednesday let out a noise of complaint, and the singing stopped.

A few hours must have past while Wednesday lay in her bed, willing herself to fall asleep. Then, she realized something was strange. It was silent. Completely silent. There were no creaks or explosions or screams. Wednesday sat up in her bed, wondering how it was possible. At that moment, Wednesday heard an eerie, hollow voice call out.

“Wednnnnnesday!”

Wednesday got out of bed and looked around the room for the source of the voice.

“Wednnnnnesday!”

It was coming from the window! Wednesday looked out at the graveyard and was surprised to see the mist that enveloped the family cemetery was now colorful, hued in pinks, blues, oranges, and purples. The colors were horrifyingly bright and joyful.

“Wednnnnnesday!”

Needing to satisfy her curiosity, Wednesday used the trap door in her room to enter her slide to the graveyard. She tumbled out of her outdoor hatch and observed her surroundings. The mist was indeed colorful. However, she struggled find the source of the voice.

“WEDNNNNNESDAY!”

Wednesday ran toward the booming voice, wondering if anyone was awoken by its volume and authority. Wednesday found herself in the section of the graveyard with older graves of family members long gone.

“Who’s there?!” Wednesday called out.

All of a sudden, out of the colorful mist appeared a woman with long matted black hair. Her face was gaunt, and her skin was turning blue. She shifted restlessly, but there was no sound of crunching snow beneath her feet. Her body, from neck to knees, was covered in chains. The chains were wrapped very tightly around her body. Blooming from the chains were daisies with their terrible odor. Wednesday’s eyes followed where one of the chains led from the woman. She realized it was attached to a huge weight that dented the ground around it. Wednesday observed a few more chains did the same, attached to different weights. To be trapped in this manner seemed like a miserable existence.

“Wednesday Friday Addams,” the sickly woman moaned.

“Yes?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember me?” the woman asked. “Look at me CLOSER THEN!”

The woman rushed at Wednesday but was caught on one of the chains. The sudden action caused Wednesday to stumble backward. She collected herself and studied the woman in front of her. She definitely seemed familiar. The way her hair fell reminded Wednesday of a drawing. Of a drawing!

“Aunt…Calpurnia?” Wednesday guessed.

“So, you do remember me,” Aunt Calpurnia mused. “Most people have forgotten. Even your parents only ever think of me because of you.”

“How did you enslave the minister?” Wednesday asked enthusiastically.

“SILENCE!” Aunt Calpurnia growled, shaking the world with her voice. “I have come to tell you that you are doomed!”

“Why would I be doomed?”

“My callousness toward Christmas has condemned me, and yours will condemn you as well.”

Wednesday scoffed. “Christmas is just some fluffy holiday; it doesn’t matter.”

“DO NOT LAUGH AT MY WARNING!” Aunt Calpurnia shouted, leering at Wednesday. Wednesday fell to her knees and for the first time in a while felt frightened.

“I too was bitter and greedy like you,” Aunt Calpurnia explained, breathing heavily and angrily. “I lived a life for myself, and no one else. And now!”

Aunt Calpurnia nodded towards her chains, her voice breaking with sorrow. “Now I am cursed forever to walk the earth like this, to pay penance for my many misdeeds towards others! And _you_ will do the same.”

Wednesday’s eyes widened. “No! I don’t want to be cursed like this. To forever walk the earth confined and smothered by daisies. I don’t believe you!”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe!” Aunt Calpurnia declared. “When you die, you will find yourself in the same situation as I, only with a heavier burden!”

“No!”

“YES! YES, YOU WILL!”

Wednesday stood up.

“Surely there is a way to get out of this!”

“Yes, there is, Wednesday,” Aunt Calpurnia stated. “You must turn your back on your selfishness. You must give to others and expect nothing in return. You must embrace the Christmas spirit.”

“And then I won’t be cursed anymore?”

“You will be free, but the transition from greed to generosity is not a simple one. You will receive visitors these next three nights who will show you the state of Christmas as it stands now.”

“What does that even mean?” Wednesday asked.

“You will be visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future,” Aunt Calpurnia explained. “I would advise you to learn from these experiences, or else –” Aunt Calpurnia twisted her body clanking the chains against each other. “– this will be you.”

Wednesday shot up in her bed. She was breathing heavily. She looked around the room. It was empty and exactly how it was before she fell asleep. The sun was rising. She listened and soon heard the sound of bombs going off. Wednesday relaxed. It was just a dream. Of course, it was, ghosts were not bound by chains. Additionally, the idea that Wednesday needed to get more into the Christmas spirit or be condemned was ridiculous. Wednesday got out of bed, trying to put the awful dream behind her.


	2. Stave 2

Stave 2

The 22nd of December had been rife with Christmas cheer on her family’s part. Wednesday scowled and grumbled at every turn. The highest point of tension in the day was when she tried to destroy the gifts Mother and Father had gotten for the Harris family. Now Wednesday lied in bed, remembering what Aunt Calpurnia had said. She tried to reassure herself that it had just been a dream. Then she realized that it was silent again.

Wednesday got out of bed and looked out the window. She did not see anything particularly strange, but she decided to go down the trap door, nonetheless. She walked toward the graveyard nervously.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Of course, there is no such thing as the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Oh really?” asked a low male voice behind Wednesday.

She turned around to see a man who looked exactly like the man in many of the paintings around the house. In fact, Wednesday vaguely remembered seeing this man alive when she was little.

“Grandfather Addams,” Wednesday stated.

“I was once him, that’s true,” Grandfather Addams replied. “But now I have a new name and a purpose. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“What is your purpose?” Wednesday asked, crossing her arms.

“I am here to show you your past Christmases and to determine how you arrived at this sorry state.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you were fine, you would not be confined by chains,” the Ghost of Christmas Past retorted. “We will travel through time until the evening comes to an end.”

“So, time travel is real,” Wednesday realized excitedly.

“Only for ghosts.”

Wednesday felt slightly disappointed. She blinked and realized she and the Ghost were no longer in the graveyard. Wednesday was in a room she was very familiar with. It was the living room in her house. However, there were some significant differences. There was only one couch, which faced the fireplace with a coffee table on either side with a chair adjacent. The room was also entirely devoid of Christmas decorations.

“I thought you said this was Christmas,” Wednesday commented.

Wednesday was standing in the corner next to the fireplace. In the room, the living Grandfather Addams sat on the couch while Grandmother Addams stood next to the fireplace. It was always strange for Wednesday to see a married couple so distant from each other. A younger though no less beautiful version of Mother sat in the chair on the left, holding a very tiny bundle in her arms. Standing right next to her with his hand on her shoulder was Father, also younger though no less energetic.

“Couldn’t we at least get a tree?” young Mother asked.

“We never celebrate such commonplace holidays,” Grandmother Addams replied. “It’s beneath us.”

“Please make an exception for Christmas, Mother,” young Father protested. “Morticia has celebrated it her whole life. And besides, we have debutante balls, are those not commonplace?”

“Christmas can be very unpleasant,” Grandfather Addams interjected. “The smell of cinnamon and the sound of those horrid songs. It would be better to avoid it.”

“We can celebrate our own way,” young Mother replied.

“The Addams way,” young Father added with glee.

The little bundle in young Mother’s arms let out a tiny cry. Young Mother rocked the little bundle sweetly, and young Father leaned over to coo at it. Wednesday’s eyes widened. The little bundle was her!

“Your first Christmas.”

Wednesday turned her head toward the Ghost of Christmas Past standing beside her.

“You had similar beliefs to mine,” Wednesday pointed out. “You appear to be quite hypocritical.”

“I did not celebrate Christmas at all,” the Ghost argued. “You have celebrated Christmas your whole life. Like Morticia, you have many childhood memories associated with this time of year. Why did you decide to reject Christmas after all that?”

“I just don’t like it,” Wednesday said. “There’s nothing more to it.”

“We shall see.”

This annoyed Wednesday, but her attention was drawn to her parents who were leaving the room together with baby Wednesday. Wednesday followed them out but found herself suddenly inside her room. It was a baby’s room, decorated with knives, hanging dolls, and distorted animal faces. Her parents stood face to face next to her crib where her little self was sound asleep.

“I’m sorry, Cara Mia,” young Father said quietly. “They are very stuck in their ways.”

“It’s alright,” young Mother answered, her voice tinted with sadness. “I suppose it was foolish to think the arrival of Wednesday would change their minds. I’ve just always imagined I would celebrate Christmas with my children every year, in part on them the same happiness it gave me.”

“We will find a way to celebrate Christmas that my parents can’t protest,” young Father proclaimed. “I will not give up until you can have Christmas.”

“Mon amor,” young Mother whispered, and the couple kissed with their usual passion.

Wednesday once again found herself suddenly somewhere new, or really some time new as she was still in her bedroom, but now it was decorated with many Christmas decorations, similar though not exactly the same as the ones she had found in her room in the present.

Young Mother was lighting a candle next to a mini tree on a stand. Young Father held baby Wednesday in his arms, excitedly showing her the whole room.

“It’s marvelous, Gomez.”

“We make a great team, Tish. I wish for more, but I hope this is enough for now.”

Young Mother approached young Father lovingly, putting her arms around his waist.

“It’s perfect, Monsieur.”

Young Father kissed her shoulder, and they were about to kiss again when they were interrupted by a coo from baby Wednesday.

“I think she wants to open her presents,” young Father joked. They approached the mini tree.

“That’s why they decorate our rooms every year,” Wednesday realized.

“Yes,” the Ghost agreed, still beside her. “This is the first Christmas tradition that your parents created together, and they made it for your sake more than anything else.”

Wednesday shifted uncomfortably. “I shouldn’t have thrown that stuff away.”

“That stuff was chosen and put up thoughtfully over the course of three hours with every adult in the family helping,” the Ghost said judgmentally. “Your parents did not sleep at all that night, nor did they engage in their usual favorite activities, yet they still were able to be much more polite than you at breakfast. Why is that?”

“I guess it’s never been as special to me as it is for them,” Wednesday answered.

“Why isn’t the fact it is special to them enough for it to be special to you?” the Ghost wondered.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we’re off.”

The scene changed again. This time Wednesday found herself in the kitchen. It was much more organized than usual. Grandmother and Grandfather Addams were the main people cooking, but young Mother and young Father were nearby trying to assist. They seemed to be making a big meal. On the counter, little Wednesday, now almost three years old, was standing with young Mother close by. Young Father had been commandeered to stir a pan, in one arm holding an infant Pugsley dressed as an elf serial killer.

“Food,” little Wednesday said, pointing at one the pans.

“That’s right,” young Mother said, absolutely delighted.

“Our daughter’s very bright,” young Father proclaimed, beaming proudly.  
“And what time of year is it, Wednesday?” young Mother asked.

“Christmas time!” little Wednesday replied, bouncing up and down excitedly.

“You seem invested here,” the Ghost observed.

“I was little,” Wednesday replied.

“Can-can-can I put Pugs in and-and-and eat him?” little Wednesday asked.

Her grandparents laughed, but young Mother got close to little Wednesday’s face and shook her head, no.

The scene changed again. They were in the living room again, and once again there were no decorations.

“Are we going in a loop now?” Wednesday asked aloud. But she realized that was not true. In fact, she had some memories of this Christmas.

Five-year-old Wednesday was sitting with three-year-old Pugsley at the fireplace, planning out how they were going to kill Santa Claus. Young Father, looking older now, was sitting on one of the couches, his eyes looking off into the distance, his expression blank. His face was red from crying. Wednesday vaguely remembered feeling happy when he became like this because at least he was not crying anymore. Thing was on the table making origami, but Wednesday knew he was really watching over young Father.

“What happened?” the Ghost asked.

“You know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Wednesday looked over at the Ghost of Christmas Past. “You and Grandmother died. You were murdered by a mob,” Wednesday explained.

The Ghost nodded solemnly. He spoke again, “And now?”

“And now Father is very unhappy. He doesn’t want to decorate for Christmas, in fact he barely agreed to celebrate at all, and he’s angry with himself over Uncle Fester leaving all over again.”

Young Mother entered the room, as always extraordinarily well kept and calm. However, Wednesday knew her mother better than most. In her eyes, Wednesday could see she was miserable and worried. Young Mother could not think of anything to say, so she just sat silently next to young Father. Little Wednesday stood up from the fireplace and approached young Father.

“No, don’t be a nuisance,” Wednesday pleaded.

“Father,” little Wednesday said, standing directly in front of him.

“Yes, Wednesday?” young Father answered with excruciating effort. Young Mother looked back and forth between the two, probably calculating if she needed to intervene.

“Pugsley and I have decided we are not going to steal presents from Santa this year,” little Wednesday proclaimed.

“Why not?” young Father asked.

“Because we are going to put all our efforts into stealing happiness for you,” little Wednesday declared as if she just said the most logical thing in the world. “And maybe some magic dust that makes you laugh too if we have the time.”

Wednesday felt embarrassed remembering the outlandish statement, but what happened next Wednesday did not recall. Young Father looked over little Wednesday, picked her up from the floor, and gave her a hug. He then carried her across the room in one arm so he could scope Pugsley in the other.

“You too are best gift givers I’ve ever met,” young Father declared. And then he smiled.

Young Mother stood up from the couch. Wednesday could see a tear rolling down her face. Young Mother kissed young Father, and then she kissed the foreheads of both her children.

“Merry Christmas, Cara Mia,” young Father said, his eyes watering, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas, Monsieur.”

“Merry Christmas!” little Wednesday yelled. Pugsley echoed her.

Wednesday felt a sinking feeling in her chest. Nowadays, when she spoke to her parents, she said something bitterly, and they would both look sad.

“You used to know the meaning of Christmas,” the Ghost stated. “Even if it was with childlike simplicity.”

“This isn’t the meaning of Christmas; it’s the meaning of family,” Wednesday replied.

The Ghost shrugged. Wednesday looked away from him only to see a new scene. It was her classroom when she was seven years old. It was the final day before winter break, and they were having a little party. Children had been encouraged to make cards for their classmates. Wednesday had refused as she did not like being ordered around. A boy with black hair in corn rose, Nathan, approached little Wednesday, who was busy cutting up a Styrofoam snowman while her teacher was not looking.

“Hey,” Nathan said, shyly.

“Who’s this?” the Ghost asked.

“Just some boy I knew. He’s one of two people whom I’ve asked over to my house to play.”

“What?” little Wednesday asked, not looking up from her destruction.

“Merry Christmas,” Nathan told her timidly, handing over a very densely decorated card.

Little Wednesday took the card. It was covered in black glitter and made from every piece of red and black construction paper left. Wednesday remembered Nathan had drawn a stick figure on the inside whose head lay next to it.

Little Wednesday walked away from Nathan and threw the card in the trash. Nathan appeared upset.

“I didn’t ask for a card, and I didn’t want one,” little Wednesday told him. “I hate the fake cheer of Christmas.”

“Rather rude,” the Ghost commented.

“I’m not arguing,” Wednesday replied.

The scene changed to the two years later. Nathan was standing outside of their classroom, and so was nine-year-old Wednesday. It was the last time Wednesday saw Nathan, right before winter break.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” young Wednesday asked.

“My family is moving away,” Nathan explained flatly.

“Oh.”

“I was going to give you a Christmas gift to remember me by, but I know you’ll throw it out like the last two.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Apparently, you aren’t the only person in the world who can be blunt Wednesday. I’m tired of trying to be your friend and getting nothing but nastiness from you,” Nathan stated.

“I have not been nasty! I invited you to my house,” young Wednesday protested.

“Where you complained about Pugsley the whole time,” Nathan argued. “And you always only do what you want to do.”

“If I always did what I want to do, I would not celebrate Christmas at all.”

“Whatever. I guess this is it then.”

“Do you have time to come over to my house one more time?”

“I do, but I don’t want to.”

Wednesday cringed.

“Fine, you’re annoying anyway,” young Wednesday declared.

“Fine!” Nathan exclaimed. He began to walk away.

“Wait, Nathan!” Wednesday called.

“He can’t hear you, Wednesday,” the Ghost of Christmas Past told her.

“Nathan, I was wrong, I’m sorry,” Wednesday called out, running toward Nathan. But then she was not in the hallway anymore.

Wednesday found herself in the dining room of an unfamiliar house. The lighting was too bright, and the house too clean. The table was covered with disgusting foods like cooked turkey and mac-n-cheese. Wednesday was positioned facing the kid’s table, where Nathan, perhaps eleven or twelve now, was sitting along with several kids she did not recognize.

“She sounds weird,” said a girl with her hair in two ponytails.

“It would have been fine if she was just weird,” Nathan stated. “But she was so selfish. Games had to be her way. Clothes had to be her way. Even Christmas had to be her way.”

“Which was not at all, right?” a boy with short wavy hair said.

“Yeah, basically,” Nathan agreed. “Let’s just say: Christmas became a lot more fun when I moved away.”

Wednesday clinched her fists. “He’s talking about me.”

“Obviously,” the Ghost replied. “Are you surprised?”

Wednesday shook her head. She looked up at the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“Take me home.”

“But have you learned the lesson yet?”

“Take me home!”

Wednesday shot up in her bed. It shook softly at the end of an explosion. Wednesday realized she was shaking, and she felt disgusted with herself. She had always stayed true to whatever she felt, why was she buckling now? It still could have been a dream. Though it felt more unlikely now.


	3. Stave 3

Stave 3

That afternoon brought on another argument.

“But we said we’d bring the whole family,” Mother protested.

“Cousin Itt and Cousin Margaret are worse than you when it comes to Christmas cheer,” Wednesday stated. “And they have a baby. Need I say more?”

“Oh, come on, Wednesday,” Uncle Fester said. “Why don’t you try to get into the Christmas spirit just a little bit.”

“No.”

“We can either force her to come and be miserable the whole time,” Grandmama declared. “Or we can leave her here and have a good time.”

“We’ll take away your teen birthday trip if you don’t come,” Father declared.

“Do you really want me here instead of far away in a different country? At this rate, I’ll just be a hostage in this house,” Wednesday complained.

Mother turned to Father. “I have felt uncomfortable at parties in the past. Is it right for us to punish her for that?”

“I don’t know. I suppose you can stay here,” Father decided, clearly not happy about it.

As the family began to leave, Pugsley came up to Wednesday and whispered, “Why do you have to make everything about you?” And then he left as well. 

Wednesday turned in early that night. This time it felt like no time had passed when the house fell silent. Wednesday did not bother looking out the window before she went through the trap door, emerging in the cemetery.

“Ghost of Christmas Present? Are you there?” Wednesday asked, walking forward.

“Hello, niece-in-law.”

It took Wednesday a few seconds to register the voice that had spoken to her. She clenched her jaw. Her eyes slowly moved to the source of the sound on her right. There, standing in a pastel pink chiffon dress, her face covered in bright makeup, was Debbie Jellinsky Addams.

“No,” Wednesday breathed in utter shock.

“You better believe it, you little brat,” Debbie said. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

“There has to be someone else. Anyone else,” Wednesday pleaded.

“There is only one present,” the Ghost of Christmas Present declared, gesturing to herself. Wednesday threw up a little in her mouth.

“You’re supposed to be teaching me to not be greedy. How can you do that when you are the most selfish person I have ever met?” Wednesday asked, annoyed.

“I’m not here to teach you anything, you washed out freak,” the Ghost corrected. “I’m here to show you how pathetic your life is.”

“At least I’m alive,” Wednesday shot back.

“You’re on my time now, brat,” the Ghost said, pointing behind Wednesday.

When she turned around, Wednesday saw a large group of people gathered in the foyer of Cousin Itt’s house. Her parents were talking to Cousin Margaret. Pugsley was playing Russian roulette with Tully Addams Jr. Uncle Fester and Dementia were talking while holding Pubert and What respectively. Grandmama was setting out desserts on a side table. Thing and Cousin Itt were contemplating Cousin Itt’s guns, now decorated for Christmas, spread out on a table.

“Seems like they’re having a grand old time, without _you_ ,” the Ghost of Christmas Present said, circling her pointed finger at Wednesday.

“Just because I am not here, and they are happy does not mean that they would not be happy if I was here. That is a causal fallacy.”

“Well, let’s take a peek at what they’re talking about.”

Wednesday found herself right next to Cousin Margaret.

“Margaret, I don’t know what to do,” Mother said sorrowfully. “I don’t know if she’ll ever listen to either of us again.”

“Well, she is a tween, maybe she’ll grow out of it,” Cousin Margaret offered.

“Every time we try to be kind to Wednesday, she becomes angry at us,” Father explained. “Does she not like us anymore? What did I do wrong? I’ve always tried to show Wednesday that I love her.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Tweens want to be different from their parents, so they act out. I remember last month when Tully Jr. had his friend give him a buzzcut. I was so worried, but as the Christmas season rolled around he was acting more like himself. Perhaps it will be similar for you, only after the Christmas,” Cousin Margaret reassured.

“But it feels like this has been a long time coming,” Father countered. “She despises the cheeriness of Christmas – I don’t blame her – but she can’t see past it to experience the deeper celebration of love, generosity, and family.”

“It’s my fault,” Mother remarked mournfully. “She may want to be like me, but we are different in many ways. I pushed Christmas too much on her.”

“Never, Cara Mia,” Father protested. “We’ve always been equal partners in Christmas.”

“Again, I don’t think it’s your fault,” Cousin Margaret interjected. “It’s Wednesday’s.”

“I’m not like Mother?” Wednesday repeated. What hurt more than Mother’s statement was knowing it was true.

“Look at all these drab outfits,” the Ghost of Christmas Present scoffed. “The person wearing the most Christmas-y outfit is the disgusting pile of hair. And did you hear what they said about you?”

Wednesday did not respond.

“That dimwit with the split-ends made a good point. All you do is think of yourself. You’re like my ex-husband, Jim. Or was it Martin?”

“I don’t care.”

“But I understand why you’d want to hurt your pathetic, gullible parents.”

Wednesday turned angrily toward the Ghost of Christmas Present. “I do not want to hurt my parents!”

“Really? Because you have been very successful of damaging your emotional, idiotic, weak-willed parents’ fragile sense of self-confidence and happiness.”

“I didn’t – I wouldn’t – I didn’t mean to!” Wednesday exclaimed.

“Uh-huh. Okay, let’s listen in on someone else.”

Wednesday found herself facing Pugsley and Tully Jr., who had just finished playing Russian roulette, the bullet missing Tully Jr.’s head and hitting the ceiling.

“Too bad Wednesday isn’t here to play,” Tully Jr. commented.

“Yeah, right,” Pugsley said. “She was always annoying, but now she’s insufferable.”

“Yeah…I was just trying to be polite.”

“Don’t be. She ruins everyone’s happiness every chance she gets,” Pugsley stated.

“That sounds terrible.”

“It is,” Pugsley agreed. “I just want my parents to enjoy Christmas, and Wednesday will do anything she can to ruin that.”

“I’m glad she’s not my sister.”

Pugsley sighed. “Yeah.”

Wednesday felt really hurt but tried to contain the feeling.

“Wow, rave reviews for creepy Raggedy Ann,” the Ghost of Christmas Present observed. “We could continue, but there’s another place we need to stop by.”

Wednesday appeared in an apartment the size of the motel room her family had shared during the “Gordon Addams incident”. This apartment was somehow cheaper than the motel room her family had shared, with unfixed mold on the ceilings and a horrible and old kitchen. Wednesday thought to herself that she may like to live somewhere similar when she went to college, but it seemed much too small for the family of seven she saw before her. The husband had just come home from work. Instead of hanging his coat, he took it off and placed it on top of the five-year-old boy lying unenergetically on the hard floor. The wife was figuring out dinner with a girl who looked close to Wednesday’s age; they were sorting out an assortment of lids, bowls, and one plate. An eight-year-old boy was entertaining two identical female toddlers.

“I’ll help you there, Caleb,” the adult man said, grabbing one of the toddlers and holding her above his head to make her laugh. The strategy could not be sustainable, however, because the man was already out of breath at the effort.

“Ugh, poor people,” the Ghost of Christmas Present said.

“What does it matter that they don’t have money?” Wednesday argued.

“Oh, you love these people, you’re really excited to have them over.”

“So, they are the Harris family,” Wednesday muttered under her breath. “Mother and Father were not exaggerating about their home life.”

“You know, why do people even have children? They’re nothing but money-grubbing simpletons,” the Ghost commented unhelpfully.

“Please tell me this night is almost over,” Wednesday sighed.

She looked around the apartment and remembered when her family was packed in a motel room, her father unresponsive and her mother trying the hold the family together. She recalled how frustrated she had been that her parents suffered so much, and she could not help them. Wednesday looked at Caleb, and the girl in the kitchen, and she wondered if they were frustrated, if they wished more than anything that they could help their parents, really help them.

Mr. Harris, still holding one of the twins, returned to the five-year-old boy and shook him lightly. “Tom are you alright?” he asked.

Tom made some kind of noise in response. Mr. Harris rubbed Tom’s arm and locked eyes with his wife. Something passed between the two of them, and then they went about their business.

“Tom’s dead meat,” the Ghost of Christmas Present explained.

“What?”

“If something doesn’t change, Tom’s future is brief and unglamorous.”

“You just deal with the present; how can you know that?!” Wednesday protested.

“I know,” the Ghost replied smugly. “All you need to know is I know that Tom is dead at five. But hey, he had a longer life than…”

“Than who?” Wednesday asked.

The Ghost of Christmas Present’s face twisted into a malevolent smile.

Once more, Wednesday found herself shooting up in her bed from the sound of an explosion.

“One more night,” Wednesday whispered to herself. “And at least it won’t be Debbie.”


	4. Stave 4

Stave 4

The next day was full of tension. Wednesday gave her whole family the silent treatment because she was upset at what she had heard them say. The family got nauseatingly excited about Christmas Eve to which Wednesday responded by glowering in the corner. She knew she was confirming what they thought of her, but she was irritated and unwilling to compromise.

That night, Wednesday felt restless getting into bed, knowing she was going to the future. After readjusting herself for about thirty minutes, the world finally went silent.

“It’s almost over,” Wednesday whispered to herself.

She hesitantly walked over to her trap door, took a breath, and slide down. This night was cloudier than the previous, so it was harder to see in the graveyard. She wandered the cemetery, trying to find the specter. After searching what she believed to be the entire graveyard, she sat on a headstone and stared out at the many statues and markers. All of a sudden, she saw a shadow in the distance approaching. Wednesday stood up and waited as the form advanced.

As the shadow got closer, Wednesday realized it was a tall figure cloaked in black. The figure stopped a foot away from where Wednesday stood.

“Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?” Wednesday asked. No response.

“Are you someone I know?” Again, no response.

Wednesday could not see anyone under the large hooded cloak, but she felt a sense of familiarity about them.

“What will you show me?” Wednesday asked.

The Ghost of Christmas Future turned its back to Wednesday and strode forward. Wednesday followed, a sense of unease creeping down her spine. The Ghost eventually stepped aside, and Wednesday saw she was in a regular cemetery. Before her, there were two gravediggers shoveling dirt onto a coffin, and no one else there. Wednesday got closer to hear what they were saying.

“Unlucky woman to have no one show up at your funeral,” the male gravedigger commented.

“I would not call her unlucky,” the female gravedigger retorted. “She was plenty lucky in life; she was just ungrateful. She used everyone who loved her to get what she wanted and got angry when they wouldn’t play along. No one is here because no one cares that she’s dead.”

“Why are you showing me this? What kind of person is so hated that no one shows up at their funeral?” Wednesday asked the Ghost of Christmas Future. No response.

“Does she have no family?” the male gravedigger asked.

“She does, but they see no reason to come. They’re not even burying her in the family cemetery,” the female gravedigger responded. “It’s just as well, she wouldn’t do the same for them. She didn’t show up for her own parents’ funeral, despite how often she claimed to love them.”

“Who doesn’t show up to their parents’ funeral?” Wednesday wondered, horrified.

The Ghost of Christmas Future began walking away. Wednesday followed, looking over her shoulder at the empty funeral. She arrived in an apartment with no furniture. On the ground, there was an eclectic collection of what appeared to be expensive stuff. There were many weapons and black dresses. There were two people searching through the things.

“Look at how much stuff she had,” the one with a long nose observed. “But she never gave gifts her whole life. How can you be so ungenerous when you have everything?”

“Thirty years I worked for her,” the one with the big ears commented. “She never even paid me a compliment. Her brother told me she had done away with those in childhood.”

“That makes sense. I’m glad to never cook for her again,” the long-nosed man said.

“They both worked for this woman!” Wednesday realized. “And they are rifling through her things with no remorse or grief! Is this the woman from the funeral?”

The Ghost of Christmas Future nodded.

“What an unhappy life, to be hated even by your own staff,” Wednesday stated.

“I want the dresses,” big ears said.

“All the dresses? I know for a fact that one of those ballgowns cost the same as a private island,” long nose replied.

“And she only wore it once!” big ears exclaimed. They both burst into laughter.

“You can’t imagine my excitement when you told me she finally bit it last week,” long nose stated.

“Last week!” Wednesday exclaimed. “This poor woman, does no one love her at all?”

The Ghost of Christmas Future as usual was silent. The laughter of the ex-staff of the dead woman was upsetting to Wednesday.

“Ghost, Ghost of Christmas Future,” Wednesday said. “Please, show me a funeral where people care.”

The Ghost turned once again. Wednesday followed, and this time the walk felt longer. When the Ghost got out of the way, she was in a park. There she saw the Harris family gathered together, all visibly mournful. Her parents were there too. Wednesday realized that someone was missing. Tom.

“Tom did die,” Wednesday stated.

The Ghost was still, and Wednesday felt it was giving vigil. She approached her parents, who were talking to Mr. and Mrs. Harris.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Mother told them.

“It is a terrible thing to lose a child,” Father choked out, before bursting into sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mr. Harris said, his voice strained. “Really, it is comforting to have someone who can understand our loss.”

“I’m glad,” Mother stated, her voice softer than usual. “We would have hosted you at our house, but…”

“Wednesday,” Mrs. Harris said, nodding knowingly.

“What do they mean?” Wednesday asked the Ghost of Christmas Future. It did not even acknowledge it heard her.

“Thank you for everything,” Mr. Harris told Wednesday’s parents.

The Harris parents moved to join their four remaining children while Mother and Father remained where they were. Father placed his head on her shoulder, still sobbing. Mother stroked his back gently.

Between sobs, Father asked, “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Mother replied, an unfamiliar phrase to hear from her. “Wednesday regrets his death, I’m sure.”

“Have we lost one child or two?” Father asked despondently. Mother did not reply, but tears fell down from each eye.

“One child or two?!” Wednesday repeated, looking back at the cloaked Ghost. Still, nothing.

“Tell me what’s going on!”

Wednesday looked away from the Ghost and was faced with an unexpected sight. In front of her was a statue. It was of a toddler with a knife through his neck. Wednesday inhaled sharply as she looked at the name on the grave statue. It said Pubert Addams.

Wednesday looked around and saw she was in the Addams graveyard. She looked back at the statue of her dead brother.

“I killed Pubert,” Wednesday stated, numb from shock. “I killed my little brother. I took my parents’ son away from them.”

The Ghost of Christmas Future nodded.

“How can they ever forgive me?!” Wednesday asked. “What happens next Ghost, tell me.”

The Ghost of Christmas Future did nothing. Wednesday turned away from the Ghost out of frustration, only to find she was no longer looking at Pubert’s grave. She was instead facing the back of the gravestone of the hated rich woman.

“Who is this lonely, hated person?” Wednesday wondered out loud.

She walked around to the front side of the tablet. Wednesday stopped, aghast. The letters of the gravestone, red like hot coals, spelled out ‘WEDNESDAY FRIDAY ADDAMS’.

“No!” Wednesday exclaimed. “No, it can’t be true!”

Wednesday faced the Ghost of Christmas Future. “Please, please let me go back. I’ll change! I’ll give more than I gain! I’ll care for others! Please, give me another chance!”

A cloud of smoke appeared out of nowhere. The Ghost of Christmas Future moved backward into it.

“Give me another chance!” Wednesday cried out, trying to follow. But the Ghost was gone.

“I can change. I do love people; I’ll start acting like it. Please,” Wednesday begged, falling on her knees.


	5. Stave 5

Stave 5

Wednesday woke up in her bed, sitting up very fast. She stood up and ran out of her room. There she saw a sleepy Uncle Fester.

“What day is it?” Wednesday asked.

“It’s Christmas, of course,” Uncle Fester replied.

“It’s Christmas,” Wednesday breathed. “It’s Christmas! Merry Christmas, Uncle Fester!”

Wednesday wrapped her arms around Uncle Fester.

“Someone has changed her tune,” Uncle Fester commented, slightly confused.

“It’s a great day, the best day, but I have so much to do!” Wednesday exclaimed. “Excuse me, Uncle Fester.”

Wednesday ran down the stairs, practically leaping over them. In the foyer, there was Lurch. Wednesday jumped as high as she could and hugged Lurch.

“Merry Christmas, Lurch! Can you please play some Christmas tunes?”

Lurch looked at her confused.

“We have to get into the spirit! And we have guests who will surely feel more comfortable if we do!”

Lurch nodded, though still confused, and headed toward the organ. Wednesday ran straight for the Christmas tree and found her present for Pubert. She ran outside, carefully opening the box away from her, and then disassembled the contraption.

“Okay,” Wednesday breathed. She ran back upstairs with a fury to hide her knife back in the closet. She looked at her bed and knew what she was going to do. After she grabbed what she needed, she seized some wrapping paper from storage and hastily wrapped the new gift, running downstairs to put it under the tree.

Wednesday contemplated all the things she needed to do and decided to start by making a call. After two rings, Wednesday heard Tully Jr. answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“Merry Christmas!” Wednesday exclaimed.

“Merry Christmas to you too! Though you were the last person I expected to hear that from,” Tully Jr. admitted.

“I know this morning is really busy, but as the day slows down I will be sure to come down and greet you personally. I’m very behind on gifts –”

“Oh, you don’t need to give us anything.”

“ – so, I was wondering if you would like to visit Japan with me. It’s my birthday gift for becoming a teenager, and Mother and Father already said I could bring another person, and Pugsley doesn’t want to go, so –”

“Yes. A million times yes, this is awesome! Are you 100% sure?”

“1000%.”

“Sweet! Oh, I have to go, but Merry Christmas again!”

“Be sure to tell your folks Merry Christmas from me! See you soon.”

Wednesday heard the line cut out and returned the handset to the base.

“Thing!” Wednesday called out.

Thing climbed onto the desk in front of her.

“There are still some decorations left, right? We need to put out as many as possible!”

For the next hour, Wednesday and Thing put up the remaining decorations, placing the most traditional of them in the foyer and the living room where the Christmas tree was. Meanwhile, the family was having breakfast and trying to figure out what illness had struck Wednesday. Pugsley brought Wednesday a plate of food, and Grandmama checked her temperature with her hand.

“How bad is it?” Mother asked.

“She’s perfectly healthy, and dare I say – happy,” Grandmama replied.

“How can’t I be, it’s Christmas!” Wednesday proclaimed. “I think we’re done, Thing.”

Wednesday high fived Thing and then gave Grandmama a big hug, which she pretended to dislike. Wednesday then approached Pugsley who held out his arms at the exact same time she did. The siblings embraced for the first time in a long time.

“You were right: I have been selfish,” Wednesday told Pugsley. “I’m going to try my best to change that. I can’t say I won’t make mistakes, but I’ll do my best. And I want you to know, while you can annoy the spiders out of me, I love you.”

“I love you too, even if you’re a bit bossy,” Pugsley replied.

Wednesday playfully punched him in the arm. Now Father entered the room, turning to Mother.

“Is she alright? Is she dying?” Father questioned anxiously.

“I’m okay,” Wednesday replied, approaching her parents. She took a deep breath. “I have been an ungrateful, selfish brat, especially over the last week, and I am so, so sorry.”

This took both her parents aback. Then their faces softened. Wednesday felt so glad in that moment to have such loving parents.

“Of course, we forgive you,” Mother stated.

“All is forgiven,” Father agreed. “I would be a liar if I said I never acted regretfully in my youth. But I learned then as I hope you have learned now, that when you are forgiven of your own misdeeds, it is much easier to forgive others.”

“Thank you,” Wednesday told them sincerely. “I am sorry I ruined the room decorations. You put such incredible effort into them, and I think it’s remarkable that you’ve kept it up for so long, even with three children!”

“Well, we do have some help,” Mother pointed out.

“If you do not want us to decorate your room anymore, that’s okay,” Father stated. “We want to celebrate Christmas with you in a way that you are comfortable with.”

Wednesday nodded contemplatively. “How about this? What if I help you decorate my brothers’ rooms from now on? It will make it easier for you, and I can still participate in the tradition.”

Mother and Father smiled and looked at each other.

“Excellent idea, Wednesday!” Father proclaimed.

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

“The Harris family!” Mother, Father, Wednesday, and Pugsley all shouted at once.

The entire Addams family, Lurch and all, headed to the door. The Harris family was a little overwhelmed when the door was first opened, but the friendliness of the Addams helped calm them down. They all surrounded the Christmas tree in the living room. Wednesday volunteered to keep the twins, apparently named Melody and Melanie, entertained during the gift unwrapping, Grandmama already taking care of Pubert. Opening presents was fun, but no one could beat Father in enthusiasm. Eventually, Wednesday’s present for Pubert was given to him.

Pubert messily ripped off the wrapping paper, revealing the Madame Élisabeth doll, head and body both. Father and Uncle Fester gasped.

“Are you sure, Wednesday?” Mother asked her.

Wednesday nodded frankly. “I have many dolls, but he loves this one in particular. Madame should be Pubert’s, and I’m glad to see him happy with her.”

At that moment, Pubert was already happily gnawing on Madame Élisabeth. Everyone in the room was grinning from ear to ear, filling Wednesday with a warm sensation.

Wednesday looked at her parents. “If it’s alright, I would like to give the rest of my presents now. I didn’t prepare well, so these were the best I could come up with.”

“Go on,” Mother said.

Wednesday decided to start with Pugsley.

“I can be…strong-willed.”

“Bossy,” Pugsley replied quickly.

“Fine, yes, I can be bossy. So, I am committing myself to change our dynamic. Do not become power hungry, or I will have to bring you down,” Wednesday warned. “I pledge that you get to decide what game we play every other game.”

Pugsley’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, I can’t go back now that I’ve said it out loud,” Wednesday admitted. “But I also know it’s the right thing to do.”

Pugsley rested his back against the foot of the couch, clearly running through game ideas in his head.

“Okay,” Wednesday continued. “Grandmama, I’ll be your potion assistant for a month, as you have asked me to do for a while.”

“At last,” Grandmama declared. “We’ll have some fun, don’t worry, Wednesday.”

Mother and Father appeared to be concerned by this, but not enough to protest.

“Uncle Fester, I will go to the mine field with you.”

“I thought you said it was too tedious for you,” Uncle Fester recalled.

“I did, but then I remembered: I love you, and even if the activity is boring, we will find a way to have fun. I just want to spend more time with you anyway.”

“Agreed,” Uncle Fester replied.

“Lurch, I will clean the attic myself as I constantly make a mess up there.”

Lurch nodded, seemingly happy with this gift.

“Thing, I will go to the salon with you.”

Thing jumped for joy and climbed onto Wednesday to pat her on the back.

“Thank you, Thing. Mother and Father.”

They both looked at her curiously.

“I can never repay you for everything you’ve done for me, and honestly, you were the hardest to think of something for.”

“All we need is you, our daughter,” Father replied. Mother nodded beside him.

“Well, I am going to give you a gift anyway, but it is probably the most long term one,” Wednesday acknowledged. “I’m going to become a responsible older sister. I will help you take care of Pubert in your presence and build your trust until you believe I can babysit him with you gone. I want you to be able to go out and not worry that you’ve hired a serial killer who wants to enslave Uncle Fester. If there is anything else that I can help out with, I will gladly like to take it on.”

“That’s so sweet,” Mother said. “But we like that you are a child and want you to enjoy less responsibilities while you can. Babysitting, however, does seem reasonable. What do you think, Gomez?”

“I think it’s a spectacular gift,” Father replied, smiling at Wednesday. “Too bad you already gave us the best gift by being born.”

Father then ran toward Wednesday, picked her up, and hugged her tightly. Wednesday hugged him just as tightly back. When Father released her, Wednesday went over to Mother and hugged her as well.

The gift giving came to an end, with the Harris family now with a car, a bunch of clothes, and toys. As the two families talked casually surrounded by opened wrapping paper, Wednesday pulled her parents aside in the foyer.

“I was wondering if they could stay here,” Wednesday said.

“You want them to stay here? But you said you didn’t like having another big family in the house. I thought they were too average for you?” Father questioned.

“I realized that doesn’t matter. I can put up with a little annoyance. The way they are living…I remember. I remember when we had no money, and we shared a motel room,” Wednesday stated. Mother looked at Wednesday with a mixture of emotions so complex Wednesday knew she could never guess them all. Father was looking back-and-forth between Mother and Wednesday with an expression of regret and sadness.

“It felt so hopeless. And it wasn’t our fault that we ended up in that situation. I wonder if the Harris family feels in some ways how I felt then,” Wednesday continued. “I want to help them because I know we have a lot of money and privilege, and I remember how terrifying it was to have nothing, even for a brief moment in time.”

Mother nodded and looked toward Father. They locked eyes.

“Of course, we’ll help them!” Father exclaimed.

“It’s a wonderful idea, Wednesday,” Mother added.

Wednesday’s parents, Father’s hand around Mother’s waist, returned to the living room to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Harris.

Wednesday gazed at the decorations in the foyer, beaming. She heard the organ start up again, and she turned to see Lurch playing “Joy to the World”. For the first time in her life, Wednesday felt like dancing to a Christmas song. But then, she felt a tug on her dress. She looked down to see Tom Harris next to her. He smiled.

“Merry Christmas!” Tom shouted as loud as he could.

Wednesday took a page out of her father’s book and grabbed Tom around the waist and hoisted him onto her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, Tom!”

“Let’s wish it to the world!” Tom suggested.

Wednesday, with Tom on her shoulders, pushed the doors open to the front of the house. Now outside, Wednesday and Tom shouted together.

“Merry Christmas to all!”


End file.
